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It is infuriating the way Gaius Baelsar kneels so readily. They are alone in their tent, naught for lighting but the flickering lantern fire, keeping the thick hide of the walls illuminated from within. If one were to look carefully, they could surely see from without as well, but Severa is in her tent alone, as has been Gaius's insistence since the beginning. Always a gentleman, unable to shed the layers of his upbringing despite casting off the subtitle that bound him to the nation. It lives within his body, the gait he takes when he walks, the practiced toed step of a Legatus that still plagues him, even with his old mask dangling from his hip, a collected relic of a life past. Try as he may, he cannot scrub the Garlean obsession with perfection from his blood; his stance is textbook perfect even now of that of a man awaiting his execution.
It is not one Valdeaulin intends to bring to him this eve, but the way Gaius kneels and looks ahead, simply because he was ordered to do so, is near enough for Valdeaulin to pray he had the nerve. Gaius had not erred, he had not strayed from his path, and yet, he accepts death in the blink of an eye to pay for an unknown transgression - a simple product of hundreds if not thousands from the Legion.
Valdeaulin stands behind him and watches, watches the way he looks forward and holds his hands behind his back. No tricks, no games; there is no hidden knife. Gaius does not fight, not him. Valdeaulin takes him by the throat and all he does is flinch, but he quickly relaxes again. Even though all it would take is to drag a knife across his throat or to twist and snap his neck, Gaius does not move. He does breathe and his pulse is beating in his neck, somewhat elevated; his body does betray his stony expression. There is still life within him, the will to fight, even if Gaius pushes past the drive of his own nerves to mimic a man with nothing to lose.
Another hand with spindly fingers pushes its way into his mouth to tip his head back, parting full lips. Ah, so even he is not above the shame of this, his brows knitting with something indignant as his pale yellow eyes, nearly the color of glass, focus up at Valdeaulin. It's clear that Gaius doesn't know what he is supposed to do, what orders he's been given, but he knows better than to bite. The Black Wolf will not bare his fangs, not against him. Of course he wouldn't.
Thin fingers grab hold of his tongue, catching hot breath and a strangled noise from Gaius's throat. The hand wrapped around his neck is still firm, the fingers pushing into his mouth deeper yet until Gaius's tongue, smooth and slick, glides against the pads of Valdeaulin's fingertips. It's a humble attempt at appeasement, one that's quickly rewarded with a tug to the neck and his head resting against Valdeaulin's body.
"Good boy," Valdeaulin speaks quietly and the Black Wolf flares with resentment, looking rattled and worse off than a back alley prostitute who’s just finished peddling his trade, what with the saliva trickling down his throat. But no, no. Valdeaulin knows what he is seeing is not a trick of the light nor the result of Gaius's military training. What man of the Legion would have such a firm bulge pushing up against his pants at being ordered about? This is something that's laid deep within Gaius's heart, he knows - the desire stemming from a man who's always been in power to surrender control.
Valdeaulin knows that Gaius realizes he's been exposed when he tries to squirm, only to be held tighter and have fingers pushed deeper into his throat. "Suck," Valdeaulin orders, the firmness in his voice too solid to be denied. "And strip." Gaius's eyes have wrenched shut, unwilling to bear any more witness to his shame as his lips wrap around Valdeaulin's fingers, taking him in deeper. The motions of his head and his tongue swirling about...where had he done this before? Had he been passed around the barracks as a young soldier? Was there a secret lover in his halcyon days? Valdeaulin could only imagine, his mind running wild as Gaius's hands deftly unhooked his belt and dropped trousers and smalls down to his knees. He shrugged the shawl from his shoulders and placed his hands behind his back once more, awaiting his next orders.
Of course, disrobing means Valdeaulin can see him in all of his glory, hard and rigid, all but throbbing with pent-up release. Perhaps that's why he's following along so easily? Even in his age, Gaius is still a man of flesh, blood, and desires. "Take yourself in hand," Valdeaulin says, tugging his fingers from Gaius's mouth just in time to hear a barely shuddered gasp among the wet sounds. It must be torture, simply holding and not stroking the way Gaius is, his eyes still closed tight as if he were wishing he were anywhere else. Ah, but that simply cannot do.
Valdeaulin pulls Gaius's head back into his groin, holding him there with the palm on his throat and forcing him to drink in the scent of another man. "Stroke." And Gaius does, his cheek pressed against the Elezen's bulge, his teeth grit as he chokes back noise after noise. He's so hard it must hurt, leaking from the tip, which only guides his hand to stroke quicker, harder, letting slick lurid sounds fill the tent. And it isn't long until his hips jerk and he winces, spilling seed down onto the ground below him.
It's only then when Valdeaulin releases Gaius and steps away from him. The Garlean is still shaking, trying to gather his senses, surely... And that is where Valdeaulin leaves him.
"You're not to kill me?" Gaius finally asks between breaths.
"Not this time," is the response, and Gaius knows not whether he is grateful or if he simply craves more.
—
Once one has crossed a certain threshold, it is impossible to return to what once was. The two men share a tent and it is impossible for Gaius to not wonder as evening takes over where the night will lead. The two of them would settle into bed with little spoken between them except what was purely necessary for their survival, only for Valdeaulin to break this tradition with a single spoken word.
"Come."
It is impossible for Gaius to not hear it; the space between them is so small. He has shed his clothing, ready to retire for the evening clad in naught but his smalls and the shawl to preserve his modesty. But he is still not one to refuse an order, so he stands from where he'd made his place on his bedroll and, as asked of him, comes to Valdeaulin's side. A motion of the Elezen's hand has him kneeling, head bowed forward as Valdeaulin stands before him in return. There is nothing else said, though naught needs to be; there is only the weight of Valdeaulin's boot between his shoulders, bringing his head down lower to the ground. Gaius had wondered if he'd intended for him to lower himself, to grovel, but the Elezen's hand reaches for his backside and works into his smalls. His height and long limbs work in his favor, gripping taut muscle and kneading the flesh. Gaius's breath hitches, eyes closed as he buries his face into the ground, thankful for the low lighting and his position to conceal the dark flush taking his face over.
Oil drizzles down his back after Valdeaulin pushes back his smalls, and there is a cold feeling that buries its way into Gaius's belly. And yet, he raises his hips, leans into the touch, and grits his teeth as Valdeaulin pushes his forefinger inside of him. It is tight, warm and so impossibly tight, but there is a give that the Elezen feels that is the product of practice gone by. As though the body remembers, yearns and craves - Gaius remembers his place and takes it, clasping his arms together behind his back.
Soon, one finger is nothing for him, so it is swiftly met by another. Working him open, stretching him, and it is just from this that his cock lays hard and flushed between his legs, swollen and needy. He does not dare touch for he has not been told to do so; Valdeaulin will remember this well. Gaius's breathing is slow and shallow, hardly audible over the slick motion of the fingers pumping in and out of him. He desperately wants to ask for what end, why rather than simply take his life he wishes to toy with his prey. But to ask would mean to admit aloud that this is not as much of a punishment for him than it is surely intended to be, and he would sooner fall upon his own blade than speak such a thing aloud. Of course, Valdeaulin knows this.
A third finger works its way inside of Gaius, and he cannot stop the choked noise that rips from his throat. Neither of them should see him, bleary-eyed and lips spit-slick, teeth grit together while precum leaks onto the ground below. It is once the fingers all fit comfortably that they finally pull out of him, forcing another sound out of him, and the boot finally lifts from his back.
"You seem dissatisfied." Valdeaulin speaks softly, matter-of-factly. Such calm scarcely seems fair, not when he places the toe of his boot on Gaius's chin and lifts it up. What a beautiful mess he is. Gaius is strong enough to stand up and push him away, but there is a burning in those eyes of his that tells Valdeaulin that it isn't what he truly wants. To surrender, to give up his fight is what he wants; he can tell by how rigid his back is, the muscles pulled tight like a bowstring. "Speak. You will tell me what you desire. You will beg. "
Like a dog, the Black Wolf is made to beg. His pride would prevent him, but he remembers Valdeaulin's fingers in his mouth, those fingers inside of him, the smell of his body, and wants more yet. For him to crave his punishment is truly a fool's errand, and yet he cannot deny his desire. The heat mixes with the cold and takes over, the want above reason. As if to add insult to injury, Valdeaulin kneels and takes Gaius's chin with his clean hand.
Gripped firmly like this, the Garlean cannot hold his gaze. "...More," Gaius says weakly. "I want...to have more of you, if it would please you."
"And whatever could that mean?" Valdeaulin's cruelty knows no end. "You leave much for misinterpretation, speaking so vaguely. Be more plain."
Oh, he— Gaius falters for a moment, just long enough to swallow and let out a sharp exhale. "To, to have you...inside. Of me. Please."
While the begging is nice, it still wasn't enough. The shell is still there and Valdeaulin wanted nothing but to shatter it. So, he continues, "Plainer yet. Fewer words, though you are correct with 'please.'"
Frustration bubbles under Gaius's skin, worse yet when Valdeaulin's nails dig into his cheek and turns his head just so, forcing him to make eye contact. He knows that all Valdeaulin wants to do is bring him to heel, to break him into nothing, to humiliate him so readily that there is nothing left of his pride.
"...ck me."
Would that really be so bad?
"Fuck me, please."
Valdeaulin locks eyes with a man whose desperation has left him stripped bare, though that damned pride of his is still present; be it in shreds or wholly intact, any bit is too much. He grabs Gaius's tongue and shoves those clean fingers into his mouth, pushing deep into Gaius's throat. The man chokes, gags, tears up around his slender fingers and salivates onto his own chest before it trails onto the ground.
"Again."
The words are broken and forced around the fingers in his mouth, and yet, still clear as day. "Fuck me, ah, ple-ase."
"Again."
Will nothing satisfy this man? Gaius can scarcely talk with Valdeaulin pulling his tongue out of his mouth and driving his fingers in, trying to suck and speak and lick all at once. Baring his fangs and never biting down, only to beg and plead to be treated this way. He thinks he's doing well enough when Valdeaulin's hand retracts from his mouth and instead curls into his hair, grabbing a fistful of his thick locks and tugging upwards from his scalp. Gaius winces, closes his eyes until a tap to the cheek makes them open once more.
Gaius dares not to touch without asking, but his eyes drop to Valdeaulin's groin briefly - too slow to go without notice, and the laugh that pulls from the Elezen's chest only adds to his shame. With that hand in his hair, Valdeaulin uses the other to unhook his belt, fishing out his cock from his smalls. It's smooth, thick, all but perfect for Gaius as his eyes set upon the man's pride. He does not get the luxury of staring, for Valdeaulin is lowering his head so quickly, he cannot hope to take in the sight.
But the feeling of the other man's cock, hard and heavy as it smacks into his cheek, has a presence that makes him crane his head and open his mouth without prompting. The length drags across his tongue and smacks into his mouth, the scent rubbing into his nose - there is a defined scent, the essence of Valdeaulin built up rather strongly - and reminds him that the Elezen is not as unaffected by what they've done as he appears to be. Gaius wonders if he took himself in hand after making him kneel, how long he'd been wanting to shove his cock down Gaius's throat and rut until he finishes, or even to take him from behind like he's so teased. Regardless of the answer, it matters little when Valdeaulin pushes his cock past Gaius's lips and forces his head down, that hand curling in his hair. It takes some work, but he's able to fit all of Valdeaulin down without choking or gagging, though he is grateful for the time he's given to collect his breath and swallow. All he offers is a single nod, faint as ever, but Valdeaulin can feel it. He draws Gaius's head back and pushes him down while thrusting his hips forward.
It's easy for Gaius to lose himself in this. The muffled guttural noises that are being pulled from his body are ones that seem foreign to his own ears, just the way his lips have curled over his teeth and his tongue moves in ways he'd thought he'd forgotten. His arms fold behind his back once more, holding tight to his elbows while Valdeaulin fucks his face, giving him exactly what he wants in a way. And the Elezen's voice is low, breathing harsh and stuttering, as he tries to maintain his own mask but finds it undone by Gaius's devices. It is impossible to disguise the throbbing heat shoved down Gaius's maw, the desperation in Valdeaulin's thrusts and how tightly he was holding Gaius's hair, as anything but the raw need that it was. Gaius takes every thrust in stride, eyes closed as he accepts the taste, the scent, and the heat spreading through every bit of his body, replacing the cold shock that had been present when he'd first knelt before Valdeaulin.
His Elezen companion takes his head with both hands and grips him so strongly, Gaius can feel a headache spurring at the base of his neck. But his nose pushes against Valdeaulin's pelvis, buried in his thin hair, and drinks the combination sweat, precum, and his own saliva as a dying man thirsts for water. Gaius expects Valdeaulin to spill down his throat, but all that comes is the rush of his own spit as he's held for just - just a touch too long to be comfortable. The hands are almost comfortable around his head, slipping from their tight hold into something much looser; Gaius would be a fool to call it pleasant, but it certainly didn't hurt.
Eventually, the Elezen man pulls his cock from Gaius's throat, resting it against his face. It's slick, coated thoroughly with Gaius's spit, and the Garlean gasps for breath. Still, Valdeaulin has urged him to beg yet again; how could he have forgotten? With his voice hoarse and his throat raw, Gaius's eyes flit back up to look at Valdeaulin and meet his gaze. "I want...I want. I want you to take me. Fuck me. Please."
Has he not pleaded enough? He is a weary old man, his eyes closing as his body relaxes - only to stiffen as Valdeaulin's fingers thread through his hair once more. He's lifted by that hand on the back of his neck, dragged up to his knees where he stumbles to find his footing. One step, two steps, until he's dropped onto the bedroll and pushed down once more. His face is down in the cloth, his hips grabbed and pulled up.
Oh, but he's filled again with fingers, twisting into him and keeping him spread wide. Valdeaulin is rather delicate with him for a man set on taking what he wants, though Gaius cannot fathom how or why the thing Valdeaulin desires is him. The thought needles at him for a moment too long before he banishes it away, determined to think on anything but that. The only thing worth focusing on is the in and out drag of Valdeaulin's fingers and the heat heavy between his legs. The Elezen brushes against his prostate, urging a slow drizzle of precum down onto the canvas under his knees, and Gaius's breath hitches. He bites back a moan and a plea, able to choke it away right before those slender fingers drag out of him again.
Is this it, then? Is he to be free from the torture? Gaius is not a fragile thing; he will not break if Valdeaulin is rough with him. It is all he can think of, his stubborn head twisting against him. But he is not free - rather, Valdeaulin grabs his rear and spreads his hole, peering at Gaius in a way that he can feel, even if he can't see. His face burns, his entire body burns with shame as Valdeaulin delivers an open-palmed smack to his backside. Enough, he wants to beg, swallowing back another cry. Oh, what a broken man he is, that the sting should only make him harder yet. His knuckles are white, nails digging crescents into his palms while he chokes back cry after cry, steadying himself so as to not rock about while Valdeaulin hits his backside.
It is enough that the cool air against his skin only reminds him of the stinging heat left behind by the Elezen's slaps. His rear and the backs of his thighs are ruddy and flushed, drawing shallow gasps from Gaius's throat. "...Have you...had your fun?" He echoes like a stranger in his own head, his bleary eyes opening for a moment. He can't see anything but the texture of the bedroll until he lifts his head a bit; it's then where he sees the pool of his own saliva below him, feels it drag from his lip to the canvas. How sordid of him.
Of course, Valdeaulin cares not for his worries nor his desperation. When Gaius feels the heat and the weight of his cock against his rear, he could almost believe it to be true. Finally, he was going to take him, like he'd pleaded and begged; he didn't even realize that his lips were wrapped around the words without making a sound. Please, please, please...
A hand comes to his shoulder while the other rests on his hip to keep him steady. He's filled in one swift motion and makes a sound like he's been punched, his entire body trembling around Valdeaulin. How nice it is to be taken again. Gaius can hardly breathe, lowering his head and balancing himself on his palms as he rocks back with Valdeaulin's thrusts. They're both desperate, working clumsily against each other like creatures in rut. The number Valdeaulin did on his backside is making each smack of their hips sting, offering the sweetest edge.
Gaius can only imagine what he looks like right now. His hair sticks to his forehead and he pants, high and quick like he can't believe what's come over him. The feeling has surely addled him; his head lolls to the side and he looks, perhaps for the first time, at Valdeaulin. The Elezen's brow is knit, teeth grit, and Gaius can't tell what he hates. Is it him? Is it himself? Is it what they're doing right now? Without thinking, a single laugh pulls from his throat, weakened and strained. This was Valdeaulin's idea, after all.
Valdeaulin shoves down Gaius's head and thrusts harder yet, not a care for how tight Gaius is around him or how Gaius's voice is scarcely hidden in the depths of the bedroll. That laugh must have set him off. Severa will hear them if they aren't careful. But neither of them care, working to seek naught but their own release in each other's bodies. Gaius stiffens and only sets Valdeaulin off, seed leaking down onto the bed from Gaius's tip just a moment before he feels warmth flooding his insides. With only a few more thrusts, Valdeaulin has finished, pulling himself out of Gaius and settling back onto his haunches.
Gaius does not look at him, nor does he think to do so again. He catches his breath and listens as Valdeaulin stands and dresses. It takes some time, but he sits up, cleans himself without fanfare, and sleeps well past the dawn.
—
The nature of their relationship has changed enough for Severa to notice over the nights and sennights since Gaius and Valdeaulin decided on where they stood with one another. From an outsider's perspective, nothing was different; the two men still barely spoke unless it was deemed absolutely necessary by the situation. But if they had both reached for the same waterskin, Valdeaulin would not brush Gaius's hand away. He does not speak Gaius's name like a curse any longer. There rests a begrudging peace between the two of them, one brought on from more than a simple alignment of goals. Were it not for the way the shadows moved in their tent at night, Severa would have no idea what brought them to such a conclusion. But she sees them, catches the way Gaius favors a leg over the other every couple of nights, and she is no fool. Their mission is not compromised, so there is little she sees fit to do but to give the men their privacy.
It is an unspoken arrangement they are all grateful for.
Gaius does not think about how pleased he is regarding the arrangement at this moment, however. In fact, it seems there is little he can keep his mind on save Valdeaulin's length in his mouth and opening the Elezen with his fingers. He kneels, as he has grown accustomed to, while Valdeaulin is seated above him, hard in his mouth and tight around his hand. "Give everything you have into pleasing me," was Valdeaulin's command, and his hand was pulled from working Valdeaulin's length over to tease his entrance instead. There is an intention in his actions; there always is. Another way for Gaius to submit, even if he will be the one taking Valdeaulin for himself this time.
It's Valdeaulin that deems himself ready by shoving Gaius's hands away and knocking him down onto his back. It's rare when Gaius gets to see him, catching his slender body and dark skin against his own. Gaius is stronger and more swarthy against him, but the ink crawling up Valdeaulin's arms all the way from his shoulders to the brow make for a stark contrast against him. He's...well, he's beautiful, really, so much so that it takes Gaius's breath away. Before he can regard Valdeaulin further, his hand has wrapped around his throat to truly steal his breath, grasping his jugular while he's distracted and tipping his head up. Of course, Gaius is still hard for him, and can do little but raise his knees to brace the other man against them while Valdeaulin takes all of him in one quick motion. It's too much; it isn't quite enough. But to rock his hips as desperately as he feels would be to disobey orders unstated. His breath is shallow, harsh as his lips part and his eyes close. Pain dealt with pleasure serves to do naught but accentuate the pain; Gaius has always had a body like this and does not know where it comes from. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is pleased that Valdeaulin understands that part of him better than Gaius seems to understand himself.
The way Valdeaulin rocks against him is desperate and hungry. His hips thrust sharp and quick, swallowing Gaius with that hand still wrapped tight around his throat. Gaius can hardly breathe and his head is swimming, blood rushing in his ears, but he thinks he hears a slowly growled command - "Take as you like" - and he would be a fool to not do just that. His hands find Valdeaulin's hips and he thrusts upward, his head tipping back as he grunts, feels the blood rushing through his ears as Valdeaulin squeezes tighter yet, so tight that he's a bit worried, but, but—
Valdeaulin releases him and Gaius gasps for breath, the rush of relief washing over his body so steadily he's scarcely realized he's still holding his breath. He's so close to finishing, but he holds off for Valdeaulin's sake - he wasn't given the order to finish, after all. Such sweet torture he feels in the way his thighs tremble, the ache in his groin, even his jaw from where he's gritting his teeth together so as not to spill inside of the Elezen. But Gaius hears a choked grunt, feels Valdeaulin clamping around him and can see white painting his belly in thin streaks, and knows - thinks, really - he's done well. With Valdeaulin taken care of, he takes as he likes, just as he pleases, until he finally comes to his peak inside of Valdeaulin. More than the sensation, it's the other man's sweat-coated slender body that brings him over, marked with pinpoint scars so much like his own, pale pricks against rich skin.
Valdeaulin breathes steadily as he looks down at Gaius, and Gaius has not the foggiest idea of how to read his expression. He did well, did he not? Or is it that he finished without being told to do so? Whatever the look on Valdeaulin's face is, he cannot fathom it until the man pulls himself up and walks back over to the chair. He spreads his legs and hooks the arms of the chair under his knees, showing Gaius his well-used hole. And the seed threatening to spill, which Gaius knows to take care of. There is no sense standing; he crawls over to Valdeaulin like a dog and buries his face in the Elezen's backside. His tongue cleans, his breath hot and the stubble on his face sharp enough to make Valdeaulin's body hitch when it rubs his sensitive skin. The heady taste of himself on his tongue, feeling Valdeaulin move and gasp above him, living and breathing, and dragging his own hand over his torso to catch where Valdeaulin had spilled to lick it off of his own fingers is enough of a lurid combination to bring the stirrings of desire back in the pit of Gaius's belly. It will take him some time, just as it would take Valdeaulin some time. But the Elezen's length twitches and lazily stirs; he wants to be taken again, it seems.
The night is still young. And when Valdeaulin snaps and says "Again," once, twice more this evening, Gaius takes his place and does just so.
—
Gaius has spent too much time in this tent, he is now realizing. He only knows where Valdeaulin is stepping by the way the canvas shifts underneath the Elezen's feet; the cloth over his eyes is too thick for him to glean any visuals. They're somewhere in Othard, on the coast of the Ruby Sea - he can taste the salt in the air on his lips and feel the way the sand wants to shift under his knees. It takes everything within him to not move his head when he feels the weight shift to his left. It's silent, save for their breathing and the waves lapping at the sands outside.
Somewhere along the line, Gaius has stopped breathing if only to hear Valdeaulin. Something rustles; Gaius rubs his bound wrists together. His face is taken, jaw clasped in calloused hands, and he tips his head towards Valdeaulin when he's pulled. Heat presses against his face, heat he knows well, and he opens his mouth to run his tongue out over Valdeaulin's cock. Valdeaulin holds his mouth open and keeps his lips parted, slipping between them and shoving himself inside. As always, Gaius is ready and willing for him, but he leans into Valdeaulin's touch and breathes steadier, calmer when the Elezen holds his head.
Valdeaulin does not simply take what he wants this time. No, he's slow and methodical, sliding as far back into Gaius's throat as the man can stand it - enough so that the hair at his groin tickles the Garlean's nose - and slowly dragging himself out again. He rubs his spit-slick rod against Gaius's face, who is happy for the blindfold if only so it means he doesn't have to look at Valdeaulin while he pants against him. Gaius is just as hard in his smalls as Valdeaulin is up against his face. He’s addicted to the scent of the man around him, the sticky pull of his own saliva as it clings to Valdeaulin's cock, and fidgets against the bindings holding his arms together. It would be easy to snap out of the bindings and easier to just slip out of them, but Gaius dares not to move them. He wouldn't know what to do with his hands otherwise, just as he dares not imagine what his expression looks like right now. Is he desperate? Is he content? He doesn't hate this, certainly; quite the opposite. His body pulls and craves to be touched, teased and tortured under Valdeaulin's hands. It is more than a simple desire for atonement or him convincing himself that he is keeping himself in line. And it is more than simple enjoyment, seeking out pleasure with another man or to relive the days of his youth.
It is when Valdeaulin pulls out of his mouth and paints his face with hot seed that Gaius realizes what he has become. He feels it drag over his face, rolling down and dripping into his chest. He flinches with it and flinches once more when he feels Valdeaulin's hand under his chin, lifting his head up. There's the faintest light peeking in through the bottom of the blindfold; if he focuses, he can almost see Valdeaulin's hand. A thumb swipes over his cheek and pushes the seed into his mouth, rubbing it across his tongue. He takes, he wants, he desires nothing more than to please. He aches for Valdeaulin's touch, his breath shuddering against his fingers while his tongue cleans them diligently, wrapping around them and swallowing.
The hand trails down his body, tracing over his throat - not choking, though Gaius is ready for that - and he hears Valdeaulin drop to his knees as his hand wanders, joined by a second. Broad hands grab Gaius's chest harshly, drawing a soft groan from the man before Valdeaulin plucks his nipples between his fingers and teases. Incessantly, he pinches and rubs Gaius’s sensitive skin and Gaius has not trained himself to steel his expression nor the noises drawn from inside of him when it comes to this.
It’s shock that drives the gasps and groans, the revelation that Valdeaulin is perhaps just as addled by his own proclivities as Gaius surely was when they were brought to the surface. It would be easy for him to call it stress relief at first, maybe even just simple humiliation, but Valdeaulin has been calling for Gaius more and more frequently. Gaius never asks, never pushes for their evenings to go in this direction, and only comes when he is called. It is unspoken between them, for better or for worse, that if Gaius did not desire whatever was upon him, he would simply break free of his bonds. The cloth binding his wrists is still loose, and loosening yet. But Gaius keeps himself there, is willing and wanting and pliant under Valdeaulin’s hands because this is the man he is. This is the man he’s been since the beginning, a revelation that had bubbled to the surface since he was first struck across the face by a superior officer and that he’d shoved down time and time again. It would resurface with a bed partner here, a lover there, but never to be repeated.
Valdeaulin is the same, though he has the penchant of being cruel, to take a man like Gaius and want to break him down rather than to be hit and humiliated. It makes sense to Gaius, for he is a man who has always had control while Valdeaulin seemed to have spent his entire life devoid of it - at least, as far as he understands it. Perhaps part of it is equal parts catharsis, but Gaius dares not ask. It is unsavory to bring up old wounds; Valdeaulin has never spoken of his family since their meeting. To ask if he was like this with his wife, cruel and domineering— no. He will not entertain the thought any longer.
His thoughts are snapped away from him just as surely as Valdeaulin clamps down something, hard and biting to his teased flesh. Gaius winces, throws his head back, and feels another sharp bite come to his nipple. More clamps, further down yet, clinging to the skin along his ribs and tracing lines down his body were placed, tugging taut and tight in a whirl of sensation that saw Gaius fit to think about nothing, save the pain mingling with the pleasure. Tipping his head back, he can see the sharp planes of wooden clothespins jutting out from his body, tracing twin lines down his torso. The pinpricks of pain fade in time, his breathing steadied from where it’d gone ragged.
And it’s when there’s a lull when he finally speaks. “...Do you enjoy this?” Gaius seems to have stopped Valdeaulin from what he was doing - likely finding more ways to draw this out. “You’ve...had me for weeks. Do you not tire?” The floor of the tent shifts as weight drops down, a warm hand settling on Gaius’s chin.
“Tire? Of…?”
Of what, indeed. So many answers float about in Gaius’s head: teasing an old man like this, enacting his revenge on a former figurehead of the Empire, of trying to find new and exciting ways to bring Gaius under his heel. Ultimately, he wondered if Valdeaulin had not tired of him, but he couldn’t collect his thoughts well enough to answer at all. Instead, Valdeaulin answered for him by smacking the tips of his fingers firmly against his cheek - not enough to truly hurt, but just enough to serve as a reminder.
“I will tell you when I’m through,” was Valdeaulin’s answer. He gracelessly plucked a clothespin from Gaius’s ribcage, and the release of the bite was far worse than placing them to begin with. Gaius’s head tipped back and he writhed, his lips parting around a silent yell. “You’ve the strength to break free of your bonds should you find them disagreeable. If everything is too much, you would tell me to stop. I know you can remember your tongue well enough to speak your mind.”
Through grit teeth, Gaius choked out, “I never...asked for you to stop.” And he didn’t want Valdeaulin to, no. He needed this, he ached for it; he was too proud to beg for it every time, but he wanted to be broken apart under Valdeaulin’s hands. To be brought back wasn’t what he sought. He could find himself easily every time. But Valdeaulin had seen what he was, his response to pain, and did not run from him. Even now, when Valdeaulin’s answer for him was to tug another clamp off of him, the pain echoed through his body like a shockwave, but he still wanted more. It was clear as day with the bulge in his smallclothes, the cloth clinging to him through the sweat on his body and the beading precum leaking forth.
“No,” Valdeaulin said, reaching down and grabbing Gaius’s length. “No, you never did. Because you enjoy this. Every bit of it. You don’t get like this on the battlefield. You’re much too stoic for that. But you take pain with your pleasure like you’re pairing wine with a meal, don’t you?” Another clamp removed, and Gaius couldn’t hold back the noise in his throat. His breath came out shallow and raw, his thighs shaking as Valdeaulin’s hands worked over his cock and stroked it. He really didn’t need to. Gaius was still hard as the pain rocked through him.
Though, Valdeaulin never did answer his question: if he enjoyed it. Even if he didn’t, Gaius had thought it was to be true - he’d hoped it, really. He wouldn’t be this committed to keeping this unspoken arrangement if he didn’t, after all. Gaius’s head turned towards him without realizing it, and Valdeaulin ran his fingers through his thick hair, holding Gaius while working him over. He had the mercy to pull his smallclothes down underneath his balls so he didn’t soil the fabric any further, spreading Gaius’s prerelease with his palm before taking him in hand. Lazily he stroked, pumping once, twice, before removing his hand to remove yet another clothespin.
He was cruel then, releasing some and simply flicking others off, batting them off of Gaius’s torso with the back of his hand. Gaius shuddered, his entire body racked with pain, only dispersed with the occasional touch to his cock. It was as if Valdeaulin was intentionally trying to confuse the two for his body, with little Gaius could do in protest but to simply take it. The last ones to come off were the ones around his nipples, deep color having flushed through the brown flesh. When he felt Valdeaulin’s mouth around one, it was soothing until he felt the distinct graze of his teeth against the overly sensitive flesh. He’d certainly be carrying the markings of this evening on his body for some time. Was that what Valdeaulin wanted?
A bite on his marred skin made Gaius jump, the hand on his cock tightening as he rocked his hips forward. He fucked Valdeaulin’s hand hopelessly, his lips parted around another choked gasp as saliva ran down his chin. Gaius shook as a leaf in the wind when he finally spilled, Valdeaulin’s tight grip relentless as his seed dribbled down onto his hand. And still, it persisted, even when Gaius had nothing left to give, even when the touch became overbearing and painful, up until Gaius finally squared his shoulders back and snapped the cloth binding his wrists. He grabbed Valdeaulin’s wrist with a shaking hand, feeling as if he’d channeled all of his strength into his forearm just to beg the Elezen to stop where his words had failed him.
To his credit, Valdeaulin did. He didn’t apologize, but he released Gaius’s cock and shoved his hand into his mouth, making the man clean himself. Though he was free, Gaius’s tongue rolled over Valdeaulin’s palm and his hands settled behind his back once more, as if he truly wished to still be in his binds. Once Valdeaulin was clean, he took Gaius’s face with one hand and lifted his blindfold with the other, tugging it up into the other man’s dark hair. Gaius winced, feeling the tears that had gathered and half-dried from bearing the pain, but met Valdeaulin’s gaze regardless.
“You’ve fight in you yet,” Valdeaulin pointed out, voice barely above a whisper. “And you remind me this evening that it is your choice to submit to me.” And it is, though Gaius can do nothing against the sudden light of the fire but blink. It is his arms that find their way behind his back even with nothing keeping them in place, his mouth that opens to let Valdeaulin through, and his back that arches when offered to be touched or filled.
He prays Valdeaulin knows the answer within all of these truths, just as well as he knows them to himself.
—
Gaius is uncertain if it is out of Valdeaulin’s preference or his perceived necessity that the man continues to tie his hands behind his back. Certainly, Gaius will keep them there on his own unless asked to do something else with them, but snapping a cloth is an easy way to alert Valdeaulin that something is amiss. It hasn’t happened since the first time, when he’d touched him too long and drawn the line between sensitive pleasure and unbearable pain, so Gaius was inclined to believe Valdeaulin simply liked to see him with his hands bound. He didn’t provide the blindfold this time, however, making sure Gaius’s eyes were locked on his.
It’s the slow, torturous drag of Valdeaulin’s hand over his cock that stands out as different this time around. Valdeaulin has a penchant for teasing him, he’s realizing, and part of the challenge is how well he’s able to steel himself against the oiled palm against his length. He’s overcompensated; there’s too much oil and it’s so slick. Slippery enough that Gaius wants to just rock up into the wet heat and finish himself off, but that would end the game early. Another unspoken arrangement. He bites back his pleas and keeps the muscles in his legs taut, breath ragged as the sounds of Valdeaulin’s palm working over him echo throughout the tent and reach his own ears.
But he keeps his eyes trained on Valdeaulin, who’s staring right back at him. Valdeaulin’s eyes are dark, his pupils swallowing his pale irises until there seems to be nothing left, save a shadowed pool to reflect Gaius’s face in. It helps; Gaius can see the curve of his spine and the way his body strains, muscles twitching and jaw tense, reminding him to keep his ground and not to spill before he’s given the okay. He isn’t even sure what signal he’s looking for. A nod? A verbal? Whatever it could be, just the possibility has him focused enough to stop himself from finishing.
It isn’t enough to leave him entirely unaffected. He’s lost track of how long Valdeaulin’s treacherous hand has been tugging him along. Gaius’s wrists are starting to burn from where they’ve rubbed against each other, his cock thick and leaking from the tip so much that he can scarcely tell what’s oil and what’s his own prerelease. Valdeaulin tires of how resolute he is and works him over faster, nimble fingers squeezing the head of his cock and working quickly, passing over where he’s most sensitive and building him up again. Choked moans are stifled in the back of Gaius’s throat, his teeth gritting before his lips curl up into an undignified snarl, a twitch under his eye betraying how hard he’s trying to keep himself together. But he doesn’t yield. Even though he can’t stop his hips, he doesn’t yield. He’s close, he’s so close, if Valdeaulin keeps this up, he’ll certainly spill. And that’s fine with Gaius, he’s done playing, all he needs is just a bit more and—
—And Valdeaulin removes his hand entirely, leaving Gaius unable to hide the shock in his eyes, wide and blown with desire as they are. He’s twitching, his whole body shakes like a leaf, and he closes his eyes as he slowly, slowly comes back down. He’s still hard, of course, and his face feels hotter than it did before, but it’s enough that Valdeaulin can touch him again. He jerks, biting the corner of his lip and feeling his nails digging into his palms. Though his breathing is hard and labored and Valdeaulin’s hand is slow enough to be near painful, he’s still breathing.
He’s still enjoying every bit of it.
Valdeaulin delights in bringing him closer and closer to the brink. He’s slow again, applying even pressure and working Gaius over as methodically as if he was following an order. Gaius can’t understand how he has that much strength in his arm and wrist to continue at this infuriating speed - surely he would have tired by now.
But as soon as the thought passes and Gaius grows used to the monotony, Valdeaulin drizzles more oil over his cock and grabs hold of Gaius tightly, sliding down to the base of his cock. He works him over with both hands this time - sliding from base to tip while teasing his tip once more - and Gaius doesn’t have the decorum left over from the last time to keep himself quiet. His head tips back and his biting gives way to a long trickle of saliva he can feel running down from his lips down his chin and tracing his throat. Gaius groans, much too aware of every single sensation of his body. His hair, growing longer yet, spills down over his shoulders; a bead of sweat glides down his forehead; his legs are becoming sore from holding him up for so long. Breath echoing in his ears, all but drowned out by the racing of his heart, and he’s almost too overstimulated to finally spill over.
Almost. If Valdeaulin allows him to, then he could… But he knows in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t. At this rate, it seems as if he wouldn’t ever. Would he leave him like this, panting and wanting, tied up for anybody to find him? Ah, Valdeaulin’s cruelty truly knows no end.
He repeats the sentiment when Valdeaulin’s hand leaves him again, eyes opening as his breath comes in harsh, sharp pants. The exhaustion is more mental than anything else; he collapses onto his back, laying against his bound wrists and leaving his legs splayed out for Valdeaulin to do with him as he pleases. A plaything; a whore. He doesn’t have the heart to feel shame about it.
Rather, he lays back and falls into his new role nicely. It’s a comfortable cycle, though he loses count after the third or fourth time: Valdeaulin works him over until he’s shaking like a leaf in the wind, eyes unseeing at the ceiling as noises fall from his open mouth, that of a stranger. The wolf loses his bite and is naught more than a begging dog in heat with the way the Elezen strokes him. When he’s about to spill over, Valdeaulin stops, removes his hands, lets Gaius buck shamelessly up at the air for a few moments, and only watches until he stops. Once he’s calmed, the cycle repeats anew.
Gaius thinks he must have lost his mind some time ago. He scarcely registers it when Valdeaulin moves an oiled hand down to his rear; he only raises his legs and bends them at the knee to let him in. The fingers that push into him just serve as a reminder of how his body needs to open to take the other man inside him. He’s well used to them by now, knowing Valdeaulin only does this now to prolong his teasing. Valdeaulin knows better than to tease him in two places at once, or Gaius would spill over and their game would be ruined.
The game, yes. Gaius can hardly remember such things, as wrapped up in pleasure as he is. All he can think of is touch, the wet heat of being touched and how good it is to be filled again, and how much better it’ll feel when Valdeaulin finally finishes removing his pants and just fucks him already.
How far he’s fallen, though for this man and this man alone. Who else has been able to give him this, this easy submission he’s wanted to sink into since he first realized where his preferences lie? None of the commanding officers, none of the young hopefuls or the countless peers who’d stayed with him for a night or a summer. Nobody’s reached into this part of Gaius, so eager to please, and made the most of his readiness to give in.
He only follows, raising his hips and feeling Valdeaulin’s hands dig into his thighs, filling him in all of the right ways. Gaius is full, their hips are pulled flush to each other, and Valdeaulin is looming over him. His lithe body in the low light shadows Gaius and he scarcely realizes what’s happening until another warmth seals itself over his mouth.
Valdeaulin kisses like a beast. He grabs Gaius’s chin and holds him in place, gliding his tongue into the man’s open mouth, all hunger and teeth punctuating the deep thrusts inside of him. Gaius feels the heat inside of him coming to a fever pitch, his own tongue forcing out of his mouth to meet Valdeaulin’s, sharp bites against his lips and tongue sharper yet from his heightened senses. Before he realizes it, everything is too much. The cloth snaps behind him as he uses his strength to force his way out, and Valdeaulin has just the mercy enough to lift his back so he isn’t laying on his hands any longer.
Gaius tightens, his body trembles, and he’s grabbing onto Valdeaulin’s back as he finally spills over his stomach. There’s more of it than either of them anticipated, hot and thick between the two of them, but it doesn’t stop Valdeaulin. Rather, he keeps thrusting, taking Gaius’s lips for himself, claiming every bit of him.
And this, Gaius won’t think about either. He knows they won’t talk about it, but there is little to be said. There are no words that will suffice for showing his devotion, and no thought that could be entertained of this devotion developing into something else. Even as Gaius lays with his seed on his belly, his lips red and bitten, tears streaking down his face, he dares not think of how Valdeaulin kisses him again, their mouths clumsy against each other, and what every movement could mean. Valdeaulin doesn’t finish until he’s spent, forcing out every drop of seed Gaius has to offer before letting them both come down together.
It’s Gaius that comes to his senses first and cleans himself, though he can tell Valdeaulin is watching while he does. It doesn’t have to mean anything, so Gaius has decided it doesn’t. It’s preferable to Valdeaulin trying to kill him, so he takes solace in the little things and enjoys what he can. When the time comes, his body will be Valdeaulin’s - whatever that means to either of them.